


The Tempest

by Jen Hall (Greenlady)



Series: Mountains of the Moon [3]
Category: Starsky & Hutch
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-19
Updated: 2010-09-19
Packaged: 2017-10-12 00:50:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/118983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Greenlady/pseuds/Jen%20Hall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Starsky and Hutch visit an enchanted island.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Tempest

"Bit of a storm brewing up," the pilot said, with far too much cheerfulness.

"Thanks. Wonderful," said Hutch.

"Don't worry. We'll reach the airport in time. I can fly this baby through a hurricane, anyway."

"We'll take your word for it. No need to demonstrate."

A voice spoke up from the rear of the small plane.

"The storm. The storm. It's mine. I called it to me. Only I can make it go away."

"Thanks, Barker," said Starsky. "We'll let you know when we need your help."

He exchanged a long look with Hutch, simply for the pleasure of looking into each other's eyes. There was nothing to be done about the current situation, which was devoid of other pleasures, but at least they had this, and it was considerable.

The small plane dipped suddenly, then rocked.

"Turbulence," announced the pilot, rather unnecessarily. Barker cackled. Starsky gritted his teeth.

"My storm, I told you. It obeys only me."

Hutch snarled, "Will you shut up, or do we have to gag you?"

"Hutch," said Starsky, warningly. Poor baby, he thought. He knew Hutch had a headache, from having to listen to Barker's babblings, and from having to smell Barker's dirty rags and unwashed hair and body. He also had a sprained wrist, acquired during the fight when they arrested Barker, and insect bites from their trek through the South American jungle in pursuit of Barker.

Hutch met Starsky's eyes and smiled. "Okay," was all he said, but he looked less likely to throw Barker from the plane.

"So, you guys are cops," said the pilot.

"Uh, yeah," said Starsky. The pilot already knew this.

"What's it like?"

"Huh?"

"What's it like being a cop?"

"Oh. Well, sometimes it's like flying a plane during a hurricane. But most of the time..."

"Yeah?"

"Most of the time though, it's like... this guy, see, he's kinda drunk, and he's lyin' on the grass in the park. And some kids are playing with a frisbee nearby. And as the guy's lying there, the frisbee gets smaller, and then it gets larger, and then it gets smaller, and then it gets larger. And the guy thinks, "What the Hell?" And the frisbee gets smaller and then it gets larger, and then it hits him."

Hutch put his head in his hands and groaned. The pilot was silent for a long moment, then laughed.

"Oh. Okay. I get it."

"Filthy Jew Fag," said Barker.

Hutch jumped. Starsky put his hand on Hutch's arm, and he settled down, though he was as white as a sheet. Starsky figured the plane hatch was looking pretty tempting to Hutch right now.

The plane gave another lurch, and rain started hitting the windshield. Barker cackled again. "My storm. It obeys only me. Kill them all. Kill all the unclean ones. Wipe them all from the face of the earth."

First the wind rose. Then the rain. Visibility sank to zero. The little plane was being tossed about like a frisbee, and Starsky lost all sense of what was up and what was down. Oh, the pilot was controlling the plane. Anyone less experienced would have had them in the drink by now. But Starsky's opinion was that the pilot was fighting a losing battle.

Barker had not stopped howling with glee since the hurricane had descended upon them. Now he screamed his imprecations, "It is upon their heads, the unclean ones. They have warped you with their evil ways. Destroy them. Destroy them. I call upon you, all Spirits of Air and Water. Destroy them!"

The plane was flying so low by now that it was cresting the waves. This can't go on for long, thought Starsky, and at that moment, the plane hit a high wave head on, and flipped over, landing on its back.

"Hutch!" Starsky screamed.

"I'm here. I'm okay, but I think the pilot is out cold, or something." Hutch was fighting madly with the door on his side. "Starsk! Can you reach the pilot? I'm getting the door open. Is Barker conscious?"

"Nope. Doesn't seem to be. Neither does the pilot."

"Okay. We'll just have to try to get them out, and hope for the best. Ah. Got the door open. Starsk?"

"Come on. I've got Barker. Get the pilot. We don't have much time."

Indeed the plane was nearly swamped.

Somehow the two men pushed and pulled their pilot and their prisoner to safety, if swimming in a hurricane-bestirred ocean could be called that. Starsky supposed that it was preferable to sinking to the bottom of the ocean. At least he could still see Hutch's eyes. Even in this storm.

*********************************************

Sand. Wet sand. Waves crashing over him. Utter darkness. Some great weight holding him down so that he couldn't move. Terror. Hutch. God. Hutch! Where was Hutch?

"HUTCH!" Starsky screamed until his throat closed up and he could scream no more. He fought with whatever was holding him prisoner until every last particle of his strength was gone. Then he lay on the sand and waited for what would come.

He heard footsteps, and felt cold suddenly. He opened his eyes, straining to see who it was, knowing in the very depths of his soul that this was not Hutch. All he could see was a greater darkness concentrated in one place before him. Then he felt a blow to his head, and knew nothing, for a time.

*******************************************

Starsky knew he was on the Moon because of the fine, cold sand beneath his feet. But it was so dark. No sunlight, no Earthlight, no starlight. Africa had disappeared, as if she had never been.

There was wind, however, where there should be no wind. This was their sanctuary, which nothing disturbed. And where was Hutch, by the way?

A hand touched his shoulder, one he would know anywhere, in any darkness.

"Beloved?" Hutch's voice, soft and low.

"What's wrong, Hutch? Why is it so dark? Why is there wind? This is our sanctuary, our still, quiet place, where there is always the light of the stars to mark your footprints in the sand. Now, I cannot even see your face."

Hutch was silent for a moment, then asked, "Is this better?" He was glowing, as if from an inner light. The light shimmered around them both, and lit the track of their footprints up to the Mountains and their cave. They would be safe there, safe from the wind and this total darkness that cut them off from the light of the Earth. In their cave they would be safe, and could plan their campaign. They were, after all, detectives, even here.

They climbed the Mountains of the Moon and found their warm cave. Hutch helped Starsky lie down on their bed, then crawled in beside him.

"Are you tired, Beloved?"

"No, but cold."

Hutch began to kiss him, starting with his eyes, then his throat, then his chest. All this time, Hutch's hands were telling secrets to Starsky's body. All the mysteries of the universe were explained by Hutch's hands. If only Starsky could interpret them. He sighed in frustration. Hutch asked, "What's wrong? Am I doing something wrong?"

"Oh no. I just feel... inadequate. I must understand. What are you saying? What secrets are in your hands?"

"Shh. Let me show you."

Hutch rose over him, blocking out the darkness with his light. His cock was large and red and it excited Starsky. He reached for it, spread open his body for it, accepted it inside himself. They were one person, one person, one person. The language of Hutch's hands was no longer foreign. Hutch's hands were his hands, his language was Starsky's language.

Starsky tried to communicate this revelation to Hutch in words, but his language skills seemed to be at their lowest ebb. He told Hutch with his hands instead. Then his whole body joined in the song, a song that went on and on and on.

"Sleep, Beloved. Rest. All the pain will be gone when you awake."

"But Hutch. We need to solve the mystery. The mystery of the darkness and the wind."

"Sleep, Beloved. Dream. We work out our answers in our dreams."

"Yes."

Starsky slept, and in his sleep he dreamt, and in his dreams he had a strange life on Earth, surrounded by water, and over that water, a storm was raging.

*****************************************

When he returned to consciousness, the storm seemed to have died down slightly and the moon was lighting the beach. A hand touched him. Soft and slight and gentle. Someone spoke in a low, urgent voice, "It's okay. Just lie still. There's a great tree branch over your legs, but I think you're all right."

"Hutch?" Starsky could only manage a hoarse whisper, and wondered if his rescuer could hear. She must hear. She must look for Hutch. "Please. Never mind me. Find Hutch."

"Shh. Don't worry. You'll be fine. We'll get the tree off. Just lie still."

"No, no, no. Hutch." Where were his eyes, that promised such delights? They hadn't lied. Never lied. He opened his own eyes. Silvery moonlight lit the hair of the woman kneeling beside him. Blonde. She probably had blue eyes.

"They never lie. His eyes. They're so blue. So blue."

"Yes. Shh. Be still."

He felt the weight lift off his legs, and struggled to his knees, though his head was spinning and the pain in his heart was worse than any pain he'd ever felt, except for one.

"No. You must lie still. Something might be broken."

"Something is broken, Sister. Where's Hutch?"

"Hutch? I don't know. I've seen only you."

"Miranda," said another voice, a man this time. "There are some bodies washed up at the other end of the beach."

Bodies? Oh, God. Hutch!

"HUTCH!" Starsky screamed through his bleeding throat and lurched to his feet. He ran in the direction the man pointed out. Stumbled. Fell to his knees. Got up. Ran a few more yards. Someone grabbed his arm. Someone tried to stop him. Someone yelped and hit the sand. He ran.

Two bodies lay on the sand before him, and he fell to his knees beside one of them. Alabaster skin. Light blond hair. Beautiful blue eyes that opened and studied him. A beautiful voice. A voice that complained.

"Starsk. I'm cold. Have you stolen all the covers again?"

*****************************************

Hutch looked beautiful in his borrowed jeans, and a dark blue silk shirt with flowing sleeves. Starsky went to him and took him in his arms. Pressed his face into Hutch's neck and just breathed. They were both in remarkably good shape for two people who had just barely survived a hurricane.

"You okay, Babe?" Hutch asked.

"Okay now," Starsky whispered. "I couldn't find you. Thought you'd drowned."

"Hmm. I think I nearly did. Then a big...silver thing lifted me up and carried me to the beach." "That was a dolphin," said a voice behind them. It was the young woman who had helped rescue Starsky from the fallen tree. Miranda? Starsky started to draw back from Hutch as inconspicuously as possible, but Hutch wasn't having it. He kept an arm firmly around Starsky, as he turned to address their hostess.

"Dolphins? Ah yes, I've read stories about them rescuing shipwrecked sailors."

"The stories are true. There are documented cases of rescues of drowning people. They've been known to save people from shark attacks as well."

"Well, now we can add another story to the documents. I'm Ken Hutchinson, and this is my partner, Dave Starsky."

"Partner?"

"Partner," Hutch said firmly, without any qualifications.

"We have to thank you for rescuing us. And I believe that I have to apologize for hitting someone. Please let me know who it is." Starsky said.

"No apologies are necessary, I assure you. Cal understands. It was a rather stressful situation you were in, and I'm sure you were very worried about your friend. My name is Miranda, by the way. If you would like something to eat, you could come down to the drawing room, or we could bring you something here?"

"We'll come down," Hutch answered for them both. "We'd like to meet Cal and thank him properly."

"And apologize," Starsky added, softly.

Miranda led them downstairs to the drawing room. It was a large room with french doors opening onto a patio.

"Mr. Hutchinson. Mr. Starsky. This is my boyfriend, my... partner, Cal." She smiled, mischievously.

Cal was a young Black man. Tall, and strong looking. He smiled and shook their hands. "Glad to see you're both alive," he said.

"Thanks. We're glad to be alive, which is all due to you and Miranda," said Starsky. "And please, forgive me for hitting you. I was afraid for my partner. Had to get to him."

"I understand."

"Good. Also, please call me Dave. Both of you." "My name's Ken," added Hutch.

"Will do," replied Cal.

"By the way, how is the other survivor? He was the pilot of our plane. We got caught in the hurricane. Blew up real fast."

"He's alive, but still unconscious," Miranda answered.

"There was another passenger on board. A prisoner we were escorting back to California from South America," Hutch added.

"We only found the three of you," said Miranda.

Cal asked, "Prisoner?"

''Yes," said Hutch. "We're Police Officers from Los Angeles, California. We were taking an accused murderer home to stand trial. He's a very dangerous man. He may have died in the storm, though we tried our best to save him. But if he survived..."

"Well, don't worry about that tonight," their hostess said. "The storm has eased off a bit, but it's the dead of night and still dangerous out there. It's not your fault if he survived and is still at large. Please, have something to eat and then get some rest. My house is your house."

"If you don't mind my asking," asked Starsky, "Where exactly are we?"

"Oh! Whatever have I been thinking? Of course you'd want to know where you are," said Miranda. "This is an island off the coast of the Baja. A very small island. The electricity is from a generator, and we have no phone lines to the mainland, I'm afraid. However, as soon as the storm has completely passed, we can take you to the mainland by boat. So don't worry."

"Don't you even have a ham radio?" Starsky was rather shocked.

"Sorry. We live very primitive and isolated lives, I know. But it makes us happy," Cal said with finality.

"Please," added Miranda, "Have something to eat. One thing we don't believe in doing without, is food."

Starsky agreed with that sentiment, and managed to eat a good meal, despite his very sore throat. He persuaded Hutch to eat something as well, though it seemed the menu lacked seaweed.

After dinner, Miranda led them back upstairs to their room. It was a single room, with one large bed, and she smiled as she said good night and hoped they would sleep well. Certainly Starsky planned to do nothing in that bed but sleep. His entire body ached as though a tree had fallen on it.

Hutch smiled at him. "Come here, Buddy. Let me help you get undressed. I'll give you a nice massage, okay?"

"Okay," whispered Starsky.

He fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

**************************************

In the middle of the night, Starsky woke up. Hutch's naked body was wrapped around his own. From the sound of the storm raging outside the windows, it seemed that the hurricane was returning. Quietly, he slipped out of bed and went over to the windows, wondering if they could withstand such a force of nature as this. The windows were not even rattling.

He found the french doors that opened onto a balcony, and went outside, clad only in his skin. Outside on the lawn, tree branches flew by like witches on broomsticks. Below him, on the patio, a white clad figure was standing, with arms upraised. Miranda.

As Starsky watched, the storm began to ease off again. The trees looked to be no longer in danger of taking flight, and Starsky could hear himself think. Miranda lowered her arms.

A sudden movement at the edge of the lawn drew his attention. Someone tall and dark. Cal? No. Not Cal. But he did look familiar. Barker. It was Barker. So he had survived the storm. Starsky had a sudden memory of someone approaching him as he lay trapped and helpless on the beach. That 'someone' had hit him on the head with a stick, and knocked him out.

He climbed over the balcony rail and slid to the ground, then ran for Barker, intent on taking him back into custody. Barker looked up and saw Starsky coming. He turned and ran off into the woods. Starsky tried to follow, but once he reached the woods, he was lost. Barker had disappeared as if he'd never existed, and only trees remained. It was, thought Starsky, the illustration of not being able to see the woods for the trees.

"That's it, Barker. Run. You're a coward now, but you were brave enough earlier on the beach, weren't you?" It seemed that his voice had returned.

"Starsky?" Starsky heard Hutch's voice and stopped. Hutch was standing on the balcony, wrapped in a robe. Starsky realized that he was outside in a gale, stark naked. He also realized that Miranda and Cal were getting an eyeful. He gathered all his dignity together and walked up to the balcony where Hutch stood like Juliet waiting for Romeo.

"Uh, Hutch?"

"Yeah, Starsk?"

"Could you toss me down something to wear? Please?"

Hutch looked down at Starsky for a moment, and Starsky feared he might actually laugh and pull one of his teasing pranks. Starsky really didn't feel like walking all the way indoors stark naked. But Hutch relented and quickly stripped off his own robe and tossed it down.

"Come on, idiot. Get back up here, and back to bed," were his tender love words.

Starsky wrapped the robe around himself and walked toward the house. Miranda and Cal were waiting.

"I'm sorry about the streaker act," said Starsky. "I don't usually do things like this, but I saw our escaped prisoner watching Miranda, just at the edge of the woods. That man's a dangerous lunatic, and I'm sorry I didn't catch him. Couldn't see an inch in front of my face, once I got past the patio light."

"Don't worry," said Cal. "We'll watch the house. And it's not your fault, by the way."

"I feel that it is. He wouldn't be here if not for us."

Miranda said, "You were only doing your duty. You should go back to bed and get some more sleep. It's a miracle you're alive."

Starsky nodded, and made his way upstairs, feeling it was only right to obey his hostess's wishes in this, especially after parading around on her patio nude. Though, if the truth be told, she hadn't looked too upset about it. Starsky smiled to himself. He loved Hutch completely, with every cell in his body, and forever, but it was nice to know that he was still acceptable to the female side of the species. It satisfied his vanity.

Hutch was waiting for him in their room, looking all ready to scold.

"Hutch, before you yell at me, Barker's out there, in the woods somewhere. I had to go after him. Forgot I was naked, though."

"Yeah, I saw Barker. Saw him run off, too, confronted with you in all your naked glory. But it's not going to be possible to track him down in this weather. You know, you're lucky you didn't break something, jumping off that balcony. And get into bed before you catch a chill."

Hutch was in full mother hen mode, by now, and it wasn't worth the effort to argue with him. Starsky was sleepy again. All the adrenalin from chasing Barker had drained out of him. He fell into bed, and into Hutch's arms, and into sleep.

****************************************

It was warm in the cave, and the Earthlight was streaming in the cave mouth. It seemed that the darkness was gone, though the wind still howled through the mountain passes. Hutch lay beside him, his body warm, and sticky, and loving. Starsky picked up one of Hutch's speaking hands and stroked each finger. By the light of the Earth, he could read each tiny line that made up Hutch's unique fingerprints. They were the key to Hutch's language, Starsky now realized. If he lay here and studied them, eventually he would become an expert on Hutch. The only Hutch expert in the universe. Someone must learn this language, someone must be able to interpret it, to understand. Why not him? Why not the one who loved him most? "What is so fascinating, Beloved?"

"Your hands. Your fingerprints. They're unique. No one else has their likeness."

"Yes. So are yours."

"They speak to me. They tell me secrets. But the secrets are difficult to interpret. You are a mystery, but I'm a detective."

"Are you going to solve me?"

"No. Study you. Carefully. Inch by inch."

"Begin here," said Hutch. He kissed Starsky's hand and placed it where he wanted it.

******************************************

Starsky woke to bright sunlight, and the cessation of the storm, and Hutch standing naked in the sunlight streaming in the window.

"Hutch," whispered Starsky. Hutch turned and smiled at him.

"Hi, there. You feeling any better?"

"I'm feeling fine, darlin'. Just seem to have lost my voice again, is all."

"Hey! That's a really sexy whisper you have going there."

"Mmmm," Starsky purred and stretched languidly, enticingly, calling Hutch to him with hands that spoke Hutch's language. Hutch came.

Hutch teased him about what a treat it was having such a quiet lover.

"Usually, I'm scared the neighbours are going to call the police. I'm surprised they haven't, by now. I do miss the continuous commentary on my equipment and performance, though."

Starsky decided that Hutch sounded far too coherent, all things being considered.

"Oh, God," he whispered. "Your cock is so huge. Oh, you move that thing so gooood. Hutch!"

"Okay, okay. You're doin' good, Buddy. Give your throat a rest. Don't wear it out."

"Just givin' you what you need, Babe."

"Shh. Everything's fine. It's all fine. It's so fine, it's so fine, it's so fine... Starsk!"

Yes. That's much better. Now you're speakin' my language, thought Starsky.

***************************************

"Miranda is still asleep. She's tired from yesterday," Cal announced when they went downstairs, quite late in the afternoon.

"From fighting the storm, you mean," said Starsky.

Cal looked at him. "Yes. It takes a lot out of her. But she'll be okay. Her power rises as the sun goes down."

"What are you guys talking about?"

"Miranda's a witch," said Starsky.

"Not exactly," said Cal. "More like a Sorceress, she says, though the distinction is unclear to me. The important thing is, that she's good, not evil. She says the storm was not natural and was raised by an evil sorcerer. It was him she was fighting, actually, not the storm. She persuaded the storm it didn't want to be so fierce after all, and would rather be further out to sea."

"Sure," said Hutch.

"Hutch, I saw her last night, standing out on the lawn and persuading the storm to move on. It did."

"Okay. That was just a dream, but okay."

"Come on, guys. You must be starved. Let's get something to eat."

They were sitting in the sunny kitchen, eating sandwiches and drinking coffee, when a rock came crashing through the window. Cal jumped up and was going to run to the door, but Starsky stopped him.

"That's Barker, probably. Let Hutch and me handle this."

"Not on your life. This is my home."

"And Barker's our lunatic. Look, just be careful and stay back, okay? I don't need another dead civilian on my conscience."

They went to the kitchen door, and Hutch opened it, slowly. Starsky looked carefully around the doorframe, but could see nothing. Then he looked down. There was a small dead animal on the doorstep.

"Uh, Cal? I hope this isn't some pet of yours, here."

"Where? Oh. No, that's just part of the local fauna. Some kind of rabbit, or something."

"One of Barker's calling cards, I guess. That's just like him. Likes killing things. Animals, people, they're all the same to him. Just prey."

"Look, Cal. You should stay here to protect Miranda while she sleeps. Hutch and I will try and find Barker. We can't have him running around loose out there all night again. It's strange that he didn't attack the house before now."

"He couldn't while Miranda's power was at its height. It's now, during the day, while she's asleep, that we're most vulnerable."

"Okay, whatever. But we're going out to look for him."

"Good luck."

He and Hutch trudged over every inch of the island, as far as they could tell, without luck, good or bad. They were both tired, sore, and fed up by the time they walked back to the house. Cal greeted them at the door with an ironic look.

"He's probably using his sorcerer's powers to hide his whereabouts. Miranda says he's not very powerful, but he can manage that much."

Hutch muttered something in a language that sounded like Spanish, and went upstairs to clean up. Starsky joined him, but they were both too dispirited to do anything but wash up and change their muddy clothes. It was late evening when Miranda finally came downstairs to join them. Cal greeted her with a kiss.

"We're glad you're feeling better, Miranda," said Hutch.

"Glad to see you've recovered," added Starsky.

"That much weather magic takes a lot out of me. But I had help. From you," she said, looking at Starsky.

"From me? I'm not a witch or a sorcerer, or whatever it is you're thinking,"

"No. But you have a link to the world of the spirits, and you and your partner make powerful sex magic."

"Hey! That's rather personal," said Hutch.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you. But your love is a powerful force. Perhaps it's just as well that you don't know how powerful. I just needed to thank you."

Hutch looked very uncomfortable and more than a little dubious.

Cal said, "If the weather holds, I should be able to take you to the mainland tomorrow"

"That's fine," said Starsky. "But we're going to have to look for Barker again before we leave. We can't just run off leaving him here to threaten you."

 

 

******************************************

It was evening, and the storm had stayed away. Starsky and Hutch were investigating the contents of Miranda's and Cal's large library. Starsky leafed through a reproduction of a folio edition of Shakespeare, then looked over to see what Hutch was reading.

"Um, Hutch?"

"Yes, Starsk?"

"What's that you're reading?"

"It's a book about the search to find the source of the Nile."

"Oh. Can I see for a moment?"

"Sure. Here you go. What's wrong? You look kinda pale."

"Nothing's wrong. The last few days have just been a bit rough, that's all. It'll be good to get home."

"Yeah. Let's go to bed?"

"In a minute. Just want to check something." Starsky picked up a few more books, and looked at their title pages. Then a few more. Then he went back to the book Hutch had been reading, about the search for the Nile, and leafed through it, until he came to the last page, and read these words:

'Shadows, lies, facsimiles: so much of life was secondhand, weighed down with arguments and explanations. If we stop moving and try to explain anything, he knew, we truly die; if we pause to make maps or poems, if we take our gaze off the shimmering horizon for an instant, we're surely lost; if we abandon the path in order to reflect or to plot our silly course, we go into exile.'

"Well," said Starsky. "I'm worn out. Let's go to bed."

**********************************************

All the light of the Sun, and the Earth and the Stars were shining on the Moon. The Mountains glistened like diamonds. The sands of the plains were white as snow. It was the antithesis of the darkness and the wind. But there was no Hutch.

"Beloved," Starsky called. "You promised you would not leave me."

"I haven't left you," a voice answered him, it seemed from all around. "I am here. In the starlight and the earthlight and the sunlight. I am in the grains of sand and in the Mountains of the Moon. I am here. I haven't left you."

"But I can't see you. I need to see your face, and look into your eyes. I need to touch you."

"Look upon the face of Africa. Look into the light of the stars. Touch the sand you walk upon. I am everywhere."

"No. No. What have I done? Have I taken you apart? Hutch?"

********************************************

"Hutch?'

"Shh. Starsky? It's okay. I'm here. You're having a bad dream, that's all."

"Hold me. Don't leave me. Let me feel you and see you."

"Of course. Why would I want to leave?"

"Touch me. Here in the darkness and the wind."

********************************************

Morning sunlight streamed through their bedroom window. Hutch slept beside him, impervious. Starsky slipped out of bed, leaving the warm, sleek body that he loved, and dressed quickly. He went quietly down the stairs, searching for the only one who could give him answers. She was in the kitchen, preparing coffee, and, thank goodness, was alone.

"Dave! Good morning. Coffee?"

"Not right now, Miranda. I need to know.."

"What about? The dreams?"

Starsky didn't pretend to misunderstand her. "The dreams? No. This whole place, this whole deal? Where are we, really?"

"You know where we are, we told you the first night, and did not lie. Why do you think we would?"

"Hutch and I were in your library last night, checking out the books."

"Yes?"

"Some of them were... strange."

"Strange how?"

"Well, for a start, they haven't been published yet."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. Unless you had books printed up with dates in the future on the title pages as some kind of joke?"

"Why would I do that?"

"Why indeed?"

"Well, I wouldn't, of course. But my library insists on maintaining a sort of independence of thought. Its intentions are good, but sometimes the effects can be... distressing."

"What are you talking about?"

"I didn't put those books in the library."

"Then who did?"

"The library did. In all likelihood, it probably thought you'd like to read those books. Or needed to."

"Why would the library do that? And why am I asking such a question?"

"I don't know. Why don't you ask the library?"

"No thanks."

"Well, I'll try help you. What was it about the books that upset you, other than their dates of publication?"

"Nothing. I wasn't upset. It's private. I didn't read the books. It's just that... one of the titles reminded me of something. And the idea of reading a book that may really be from the future... I don't want to know the future."

"Then don't," said Miranda. Her words were punctuated by the sound of breaking glass. "That sounded as if it came from the drawing room," said Miranda.

Cal was already in the hallway, and Hutch was running downstairs. Fortunately, he was dressed. They opened the drawing room doors, and were confronted with a tall, thin, bedraggled figure. Starsky and Hutch entered the room. Cal backed out slowly. Miranda stood in the doorway.

"Barker," Hutch announced.

"Yes. It's me. I've come for my storm." The man was pale and wavering on his feet. He looked as if it wouldn't take a hurricane to knock him over. One tiny puff of wind would probably do it. But Barker was insane, and who knew what a lunatic was capable of.

"Sorry. You missed it. It just left. Stick around, though. We'll put you up for the night," Hutch offered.

"I've come for my storm. That witch bitch stole it. She stole it. She and you and that... catamite."

Hutch edged toward the left, Starsky the right.

"That filthy Jew you screw. The Jew you screw. I like that. It's poetry. You should all crawl back under the rocks you came from. Jews. Queers. Niggers. Witch bitches. You belong in the sewer. Your minds are like sewers." He threw back his head and howled, "You stole my storm!"

Barker was standing in the sunlight that streamed in through the broken french doors. He was so caught up in his speech that he didn't hear Cal coming up behind him from the garden. Cal reached Barker and shoved him forward just as Starsky and Hutch made their move.

Though Barker fought like the madman he was, Starsky and Hutch soon had him restrained. Then Hutch laughed.

"What's funny, Blondie?"

"Look at his belt."

Somehow, Barker had gotten out of his handcuffs, but had kept them dangling on his belt as a kind of souvenir. Starsky didn't want to think about what he had intended to do with them. They were soon back where they belonged, decorating Barker's wrists.

*********************************************

They stood by the boat, ready to return to the mainland, and civilization. The pilot had recovered consciousness, though he had no memory of recent events. Barker was safely handcuffed, and Hutch had actually gagged him this time.

"Wise move," Miranda observed.

"I just don't want to listen to his racist, sexist, homophobic commentary all the way home."

"I don't blame you. Neither would I. I still think it's a wise move."

"Miranda?" asked Starsky. "Have you read those books? The ones I told you about?"

"Perhaps."

"Are... are we in them? Do we change history? Do we do any good? Do we have any effect on the world? Is that why the books were there?"

"I thought you didn't want to know about the future?"

"I don't, exactly. I want to know if there is a future. I want to know if we will see the future, if we'll be there, if we are real, and not just grains of sand. Not just the light of the stars."

"Then you are real. Your love makes you real. Your souls make you more than the grains of sand. And Dave? You asked me this morning what this place was, what the 'deal' was. This place is a sanctuary if you should ever need one."

"Thank you. I'm ready to go home now."

Hutch put his arm around him as they stood at the prow, watching the horizon for the first sight of land.

"What was that all about the future and grains of sand?"

"I was wondering about the dream I had last night."

"The dream where I became grains of sand upon the moon?"

"Yes. It was a nightmare, actually."

"Brr. You weren't the one all in pieces. I'll try to hold it together for you, Starsk."

"Thanks. That's all I ask."

And for the strength not to want to know everything about you, he thought. And for the wisdom to learn from a book called 'The Mountains of the Moon', whoever this William Harrison was.

Starsky turned to look at Miranda's island but it had already disappeared into the mist.

 

*** The End ***


End file.
